Dear Mr Wayne
by AliaAtreidesBr
Summary: Oneshot. Thomas and Martha Wayne's killer writes to Bruce... What does he has to say? An insight in the murderer's mind.


So...

Just an one-shot about a "what if" situation. However, I guess that what motivated me to write it was how realistic it can be. Yes, I guess my favorite thing about Batman are his origins, and I wanted to write about it. It's pretty simple, and I hope you enjoy it. Just a small writing exercise.

Oh, and if you're wondering about my unfinished stories... I'm on it. Honestly. It's just that I'm at this new job, and working a lot, so I'm having problems to find time to write more than a page or two per week. Yeah, yeah, sad, lame, shameful... but such is life. Once I get the hang of it, I'll produce more. But, please, don't loose faith in me.

Anyway, thaks for reading this, and I hope you like it. Leave a review if you can, I'm always glad to hear your opinion.

And last, but not least, the disclaimer:

I dont own the characters. They are DC characters, for better or worst.

AliaAtreidesBr

* * *

Dear Mr. Wayne, 

I don't actually believe you'll ever lay eyes on this letter, but, well, I _hope_ you do.

I guess you're wondering how could I dare write you (I admit, it's pretty weird), but, if you've got this far reading this letter, maybe you could just take a chance, and go through with it. I mean, I can't blame you if you just toss this away, but, in the end, aren't you at least a bit curious?

If you read the envelope, you know who I am. You know who I am, and you know what I did. And, no doubt about it, you are hating me with all your strength right now, aren't you?

God, I hope you are!

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a sick wacko that enjoys being hated! No, no, that's not it… it's just that, well, I would feel terrible if you, like, pitied me, or something like that. It's the honest truth, Mr. Wayne, swear on my dead mother's grave. Thing is, I _know_ what I did, and know that I deserve more than just what I'm getting.

You see, I didn't always think like that. No, no sir. Once upon a time, years and years ago, I felt no guilt, I had no shame. Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry, but, for a long time, I would tell myself your parents had what they deserved. "They saw it coming", I used to say, "and if they didn't, well, then they _really_ should have known better." Yeah, yeah, I was a piece of shit, pardon my French.

You know, Mr. Wayne, I was a bad guy. A bad guy, with no purpose in life. Years ago, when I did what I did, I was a kid full of hate, a young man that was trapped between drugs and poverty – my own mistakes, so don't go soft on me now, all right?

I guess I can't avoid talking about that night… That awful night. Honestly, I dream about it all the time, and I think about it every single day. For real. Even when I was in my worst days, even when I thought I had done nothing wrong, even then I would dream and think. You see, Mr. Wayne, that night, I know now, changed who I was.

And I'm sure it changed you too.

Because, really, when I approached your parents, I remember thinking you mother's necklace would buy me the heroin I wanted. I remember thinking your dad looked a lot like the principal in my high school that I hated. I remember thinking that someone had to be really dumb to go into that alley at that time of the night. Yeah, all those things I thought, and all those things I remember.

But you, Mr. Wayne, your face and your screams… It's my nightmare.

For years I ignored you. I ignored the memory of you, and I pretended you were not there. I would recall that night as the one in which I shot a rich couple, some snobs that had been fool enough to cross my way. I tried, with all my strength, to erase you from that night.

It's not possible, is it, to pretend it didn't happened, right? Not for me, and, I'm sure, not for you.

In the end, Mr. Wayne, I remember you too damn well. I remember you were a little boy, running around your parents as you pretended to be some hero hunting villains – I bet you are not such a fan of those guys anymore, are you? I remember you were laughing, hell, I remember your parents watching you and smiling…! That's probably why they didn't see me until it was too late. Because you and your parents, you seemed to be having fun back then, distracted by good things.

You seemed happy and perfect, and I hated that.

I remember perfectly how you looked at me when I got closer: you suddenly froze, and you looked at me in a way… Well, not how kids usually look at people. No, no, I _saw_ fear in your eyes, I saw how you recognized me as something dangerous and something wrong. I saw how you knew things were not right.

All happened so fast, I was yelling, your mother was yelling, your father was yelling… you were in silence. You were quiet, you were so desperately scared, you were alone.

And then I shot.

I guess you screamed, you finally screamed when your father's body hit the ground. Your mom's followed it, and I ran. I ran. I ran from my crime, I ran from the blood and death. Or not. No, I ran from you, Mr. Wayne.

Yeah, it's true. I ran from you. I ran from your little boy's eyes, eyes that were so full of pain, eyes that spoke so much of your sudden loneness, of your loss. Yeah, I ran from that. I couldn't bare those eyes.

Mr. Wayne, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry… I know you can't forgive me, and please, please, don't. Don't forgive me. Don't pity me. But recognize this: I know what I did to you, and I know you didn't deserve it. No matter what you did with your life, no matter what kind of man you're today: that boy, the boy I saw that night, he deserved better.

And if I have done something in my life I'm proud of, Mr. Wayne, was that I ran that night. I know it's so low of me to think of me sparing your life then as something to be proud, but, well, I am. In the end of the day, Mr. Wayne, when I feel so terrible, when I think I'm a nobody that did nothing but turning the world into a worst place, I confess, I end up thinking about the little boy in the dark alley, and this makes me feel little better. You know why, Mr. Wayne?

Because I know, I just know that, somehow, you're doing something great.

That boy, Mr. Wayne, the boy I left with hands full of blood, that boy looked at me in a way that made me feel bad. He looked at me in a way that made me feel ashamed of myself. He looked at me, and I knew, _I knew _that what I did to you didn't ruin you completely.

You were strong. I knew right then you were strong. Stronger than me.

Special.

So live, Mr. Wayne. Live. Because maybe I was the only person in your life that ever had the chance of killing you, and I didn't.

Even the worst sinner can have a virtue. Remember that, and pray for me.

To this world, goodbye.

Joe Chill


End file.
